


Are You

by thereisalwaysroom



Series: The Moment Before [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Casual Intimacy, Foot massages, M/M, Nerves, Rehearsals, Tim's a little stoned, Who wouldn't get swoony around Armie, Work Crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 15:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisalwaysroom/pseuds/thereisalwaysroom
Summary: Timothée feels that ache that’s been growing stronger inside him, an ache he can’t label as anything but longing. Longing for what, he’s unsure. Success, truth, appreciation.Need. See me,he wants to say to him.Let me see you, too.





	Are You

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I do is for fun, and thus, this is strictly, explicitly fictional.
> 
> Do not repost my work anywhere else without my explicit permission.

“Are you nervous?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you nervous,” Armie repeats, his bare foot nudging slightly into Timmy’s left side. They’re both laying back on the sofa scripts on the table, already off-book for days. Armie’s broad frame rests against the arm of one end, while Timmy’s slumped on the other, both of them with their legs stretched out to either end, in the shape of a lazy 71. Tim’s so slender that he tucks into the back of the sofa easily, and he gasps, squirming as Armie’s toes tickle that spot between his ribs.

“Ahh, fuck! Mmm.” He catches Armie’s big toe and squeezes it, then rests his hand over the top of his whole foot, an idle weight. “I don’t know. I’m not, because it’s you, but it’s also  _you_ , so I am.”

“Oh?” Armie picks up one of his ankles in turn and rubs it gently, his head tilted. His eyes beg the question, questions.  _Is it me? Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?_

“It’s nothing bad,” Tim says, somewhat hurriedly, but Armie’s long fingers on his ankles feel nice enough to make him feel like he’s moving through syrup. That could also have been the joint he’d shared with him a little after their dinner with the crew. “It’s not like I have any qualms about kissing you. I just want it to be good. And…I want  _you_  to be comfortable.”

Armie’s face softens, a little wrinkle appearing at the corner of his mouth. A half smile. “Looking out for the virgin, eh?”

Timothée laughs and slides his hand up his friend’s shin, skimming over his skin with his fingertips, watching the involuntary goosebumps that it produces. An acute, physical reaction that even his tall, handsome costar isn’t immune to. Proof of what he can do to a person. Proof of him responding. His Oliver to his Elio.

“I just…I want it to feel as good as it should look, too. Sometimes the whole intimacy thing can be weird and clunky and clinical. Loses it’s edge. And…with the whole movie being like it is, you know, we can’t really…I just want to make sure we’re still clicked in. That we don’t fall into a rut of practiced movement, like we’re phoning it in.” He flushes, realizing what he’s just said. “Not that you’re not an amazing actor, not that I’m saying I’m worried that you won’t be into it, or, whatever. Into the acting, I mean, or the scene. Fuck, you’ve been so good, so far. So, so good, so Oliver. I just…god, your hands are distracting me. I can’t talk, everything comes out wrong. Open mouth, insert foot.”

Armie is chuckling, picks up his foot, makes an exaggerated goof to put it in his mouth, to which Tim lets out a mock cry, thrashing where he lies, launching himself up and forward with a, “Nooooo, you don’t!” He loses his balance as Armie bends a knee, landing with a soft, ‘oof!’ against his chest.

“Mmm, c’mere,” Armie says, pulling him into a hug. It’s like the one he gave him the other day, tight, and warm, and brotherly, and when Timothée sighs into his shoulder, his hands come up into his hair, tugging just a little. Armie makes a soft noise in his throat, and now Oliver nuzzles his temple. “I know what you meant,” he says. “I’m nervous, too.”

Timothée feels that ache that’s been growing stronger inside him, an ache he can’t label as anything but longing. Longing for what, he’s unsure. Success, truth, appreciation. Need.  _See me_ , he wants to say to him.  _Let me see you, too._

“I was thinking, we could just go over the blocking again,” he says into Timmy’s hair, and Tim feels the goosebumps on the back of his neck, now. Acute. Involuntary.  _Euphoric_. “Just…feel it out, a little. That way, even if we do get cynical or tired or frustrated…we can tap back into it. And you can tap out when you need.”

Timmy looks up, chin still on Armie’s chest, his eyes wide and somehow very, very clear. He reaches up to skim his fingertips over his mouth, let them rest there, over those lips that he’d licked on a whim the other day under the tree, close as breathing in the long, tall grass. Those lips press against his fingers in a half-kiss, and he wants so suddenly to cry.

“I like that idea,” he breathes, voice soft as a secret.

**Author's Note:**

> For all the people who've been quietly in love with someone they've worked with.
> 
> Happy Monday, wherever you are.


End file.
